Unwanted Sentiment
by lifeofalostelf
Summary: Sherlock goes about his life just fine, he thinks, until he finds out he has a child and that it's been kept from him for over five years. The intrigue over-rules any bad feelings he may have had and he goes to find the child with her new guardian John Watson. Parentlock. (not my characters.)
1. Chapter 1

It had been a day like any other, one where Sherlock found himself on the sofa with a needle in his arm, trying to get his thoughts to calm down, trying to make everything feel like less. He was certain the day would continue in the same way as it usually did, perhaps with an experiment or if he was lucky a case. Though he had to pretend he wasn't high, since the new detective inspector while more open to Sherlock's aid than anyone else, still refused to work with him when he was like this. Sherlock had started plenty of arguments with him about it, but Lestrade wouldn't back down. He was a stubborn man after all.

Sherlock's reverie was interrupted by the sound of the bell and then muffled voices. Sherlock started to hide the evidence before he heard the footsteps heading up the stairs and slumped back onto the sofa in irritation, just before Mycroft appeared in the entryway. He barely reacted to the sight of Sherlock, leading Sherlock to the conclusion that Mycroft had already been well aware of what Sherlock was up to. That only infuriated Sherlock further.

Sherlock refused to speak. He wouldn't break the silence, and he even decided he wouldn't reply to anything Mycroft said either. There was no point. Mycroft would already have everything planned out in his own mind about what Sherlock would think and say. Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to keep the emotions from his high, trying to keep the feeling of being away from the world, even while his world came to him destroying the illusion completely in the voice of Mycroft Holmes.

"And here I thought you had given up such trivialities in order to continue working." Mycroft said as he sat in an armchair, facing Sherlock. Sherlock refused to speak which didn't surprise Mycroft in the least, he merely sighed and leaned back against the sofa. "I've come into some information that may or may not be interesting to you." He said, still watching Sherlock who didn't even move at his words. He rolled his eyes and sat forward a bit. "I'm sure you remember Irene." He said, still not surprised when Sherlock didn't reply but shifted just slightly showing that he had caught his attention just a bit. "You always were intrigued by her." He added, drawing out the story just to irritate Sherlock.

"It has come to my attention that she died a few months ago." He said, deciding not to sugarcoat it. That finally got a reaction, which was merely Sherlock turning to look at him, obviously aware that Mycroft would have known before now and wondering why Mycroft chose now to tell him.

Mycroft waited, not speaking yet, letting his brother wait before he spoke again. "She had a daughter. Were you aware?" He asked, watching Sherlock closely, the slight widening of his eyes was enough to know he wasn't aware. Mycroft nodded. "She's 5 years old." He said again, watching him still, watching him do the calculations in his head and finally come to a conclusion which only left him more confused than before. "Yes." Mycroft replied to Sherlock's unasked questions. Yes Mycroft was aware when she had the child and yes the child is in fact Sherlock's.

Sherlock leaned back onto the sofa as if it was of no interest to him, even as his mind ran over the information, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it. He was slightly terrified that he would have been put in charge of the child and that was not something Sherlock could do, or that any sane person would allow.

Mycroft once again seemed to read his brother as he spoke. "She has recently been adopted, by an ex-soldier." He said, before setting down a file he'd been carrying onto the coffee table. "In case you're at all interested." He said before standing. "Obviously you couldn't take the child. I myself would have spoken against you caring for even a pet." He murmured before leaving, making Sherlock glare at the door, though he couldn't actually blame Mycroft at all. He couldn't even take care of himself. And he couldn't say he cared about the unknown child. Though he had to admit he was curious and soon found the papers in the file scattered around him.

Sherlock thought he should have been more affected by Irene's death. She was interesting at the very least. He was sure Mycroft thought him more attached than he actually was. In some ways she was something that interested him and he wanted to understand more of her and in some ways she was an experiment, they went hand in hand really. When he was finished with his experiment he had left her. She became dull rather quickly when he had learned all he could about her. She became predictable and when that happened there was nothing more for him to get out of her.

He did feel some small loss at her death. She was still probably the most interesting person he had met. And of course there was some sort of connection he felt with her. But now there was nothing left of her, or them. Well except for their child, apparently. That was an enigma in itself. Sherlock had seen Irene after the point where the child would have been conceived and yet she had been able to hide it from him. Sherlock wasn't sure if he was more irritated by that or impressed. Either way he now knew he had a child in the world. A five year old child. He had paced his flat for a long time trying to figure out what to do with the information.

Initially he had tossed it aside, deciding it didn't matter, it was just a child and he had no reason to feel any sentiment toward a being he had never met. He never felt any sentiment toward anyone anyway. Perhaps Irene had been the closest, or maybe even Mrs. Hudson, his landlady. There was something about her that had drawn Sherlock in, knowing that he would do anything to protect her. He still didn't consider it sentiment, more perhaps a sense of obligation in a way. She took care of him so he returned the favor, that was all.

However, try as he might, it seemed he couldn't just toss the idea aside. He found himself drawn to the papers over and over again. He hadn't learned much about the child, just that it was a female and five years old. It didn't even have a photograph, but he was sure Mycroft had left that out on purpose. Sherlock had no idea why and that irritated him further. He didn't like when he didn't understand what Mycroft was planning, and Mycroft was always planning something. He never did anything without thinking at least five moves ahead.

He had learned more about the child's new guardian. His name was Doctor John Watson and he was an ex-soldier who had been wounded in combat. It was rather interesting actually. Sherlock didn't understand why such a person would want a child after all he had been through. It didn't make sense, which only meant that Sherlock was intrigued. Both by the child and by the guardian.

That was how Sherlock found himself outside of the doctor's flat a few days later. It was a small place and Sherlock wasn't even sure how the place had been approved for a child. He knocked and heard the tell-tale sounds of someone coming toward the door to greet an unexpected visitor. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of the man. There had been a picture of him in the file, so he wasn't completely taken by surprise by the man at the door. Although the picture he had was taken a few years ago, obviously. He had aged well though, despite the obvious shot to the shoulder and the psychosomatic limp that wasn't mentioned in the file. He thought that was interesting as well. Why would this man think having a child would help his situation? He wasn't sure but he was going to find out. And of course the child being his had nothing to do with it, of course not.

"Euh.. Hello, How can I help you?" The man, John, asked. Sherlock lifted his head a bit, after his appraisal. "I merely have a few questions to ask you. It would be better inside of course." Sherlock responded and quickly ducked into the house before John could respond. He was taken by surprise, which Sherlock was appalled by, he should have known as a soldier with PTSD and a child in the home, he wouldn't have taken well to a stranger marching straight into his house. But nonetheless he found himself smashed against the wall with intense eyes staring at him.

He blinked slowly, the almost shy doctor was gone and in its place was the soldier. Sherlock was beyond intrigued. "I apologize. I should have known better than to startle a soldier with PTSD, especially one who is protecting a child in the home." He said, and for some reason was surprised that the soldier didn't back down but rather looked even more volatile. He wasn't sure what he said wrong there. He frowned slightly before John spoke again. "How do you know that and what do you want?" His words were spoken slowly and harshly, demanding an answer.

Sherlock shrugged as much as he could in his position. "It's obvious." He replied, deciding not to mention the file, though that was easy enough as all of the hints were practically screaming at him. "Even without your agile reflexes and your strength. The way you hold yourself says army along with the haircut, not to mention your tan which is only up to your wrist which shows you weren't out for a vacation but wearing a uniform. Hardly important whether Afghanistan or Iraq. Then there's the bags under your eyes which shows you're not sleeping, could be because of the child, though their age makes it a bit less likely that they're keeping you up all hours of the night, though still possible especially with the recent tragedy. Your psychosomatic limp also points to the PTSD seeing as you limped to the door, by the sound of your gait, but you stood as if you didn't remember the pain and you were far too agile in pinning me to the wall, which I would appreciate it if you'd release me now."

John stared at him, easing up a little, but not yet letting go. "How did you know about the child?" He asked. Sherlock paused for a moment. He didn't want to mention he was the father, not yet, possibly not at all. He tilted his head to the side, observing more and thinking about what he had already observed. "I heard you speaking before you came to the door. Yet no one has come to see what all the commotion was. Could have been on the phone seeing as I didn't hear a reply but then there's the coat on the wall next to your own. I really don't think pink is your color nor that you'd have ever fit that. And of course there was the way your eyes flitted down the hall as if there's some sort of secret in your home or something you don't want anyone finding or hurting. Your child. Well when I say yours…" He shrugged lightly. "You've obviously adopted her."

John finally released Sherlock, but stood so he was in between Sherlock and the rest of the house as a barrier which Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to try and cross again. "How could you possibly know about the adoption?" He asked, making Sherlock smirk a bit.

"Partially a guess, though a good one. You have only one picture on the wall in this hall and it's of you and your sister, obvious by the resemblance and age difference. You obviously cherish family yet you have no photo of the child yet and only one jacket. It's a recent development but she's older than if you just recently had a child yourself. I would guess five years old. She could have been yours with your ex-wife, but again you would have a picture even if you never had custody until now. And before you ask about the ex-wife, you have a tan around your finger where the ring once sat, but again no picture on the wall, no woman's clothing, no scent either. So ex-wife."

John stared at him a moment before letting out a light sigh. "Wow.. That.. That was brilliant." He breathed, making Sherlock start. "Was it?" John nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. "Yeah. Yes it was. You know it was." He replied quickly causing Sherlock to tilt his head in intrigue. "That's not what most people say." Sherlock said quietly, trying to understand this man.

John raised his brows. "Oh? What do most people say?" He asked.

"Piss off." Sherlock replied easily, watching with fascination as the man broke into a smile before laughing softly, almost giggling, causing Sherlock to smirk lightly, feeling something warm inside of him spreading. He hadn't come across too many people that enjoyed his intelligence. There was Irene, but her interest was always less pure. And then there was the detective inspector, but it still wasn't quite the same, there wasn't the same spark in his eyes, the interest was there but only at a level where it helped with his work.

Finally John stopped laughing and cleared his throat. "Right. So.. May I ask why you're here?" He asked, still not moving from in front of Sherlock, blocking him. Sherlock nodded. "You just did, in a way." He muttered before straightening up and glancing at him again, trying to think. "I'm with child services. I know they told you they'd be checking up on you. Probably not for a while yet, but they say that and then spook you randomly. They don't want you to be prepared for them, wanting to surprise you to make sure you're doing well all the time. I'm sure you understand." He supplied quickly with a light smile.

John didn't look too sure for a moment, but he smiled and finally stepped aside, shutting the door behind him and leading the way into the sitting room. Sherlock's eyes glanced around the room seeing more of John's life, more evidence of the child, the ex-wife, and the sister. Finally his eyes settled on the girl sitting on the floor with a Barbie on the ground and some stuffed animals around it. He watched her look up and make eye contact with him. It was odd to look at the girl. She had curls hanging down from her head, almost to her shoulders. They were lighter than Sherlock's hair, but just barely. Her skin was a bit darker than Sherlock's, but she had the high cheekbones though more feminine like Irene. Her eyes were also closer to Irene's, more of a solid blue than the mess of colors that were Sherlock's eyes. She also looked far too thin for a child and not very happy either.

Sherlock always thought of children as either always crying or always laughing, but this child was somewhere in between, some sort of somber attitude that made her seem older than just five. She looked up at him with curiosity, eyes flitting over him in a way that he felt was probably a mirror of his own, though he was sure a child of her age couldn't possibly get the same amount of information he had. He was curious about her intelligence though, knowing the power of his own mind and knowing that Irene wasn't too dim either. But the girl didn't seem ready to talk as most seemed to babble on and on. It wasn't shyness, he noted. There was something lingering behind her eyes keeping her from talking, or even being comfortable.

John cleared his throat causing Sherlock to turn and pay attention to John. "What is she doing?" He asked, looking at the way she was playing and finding he didn't understand it a bit. John shrugged lightly. "I'm not entirely sure."

Sherlock frowned, not happy with that answer. "And you haven't thought to ask her?" He asked. The look John gave was an odd one, he looked a bit confused and maybe even suspicious. "Ask her?" He asked slowly, as if Sherlock was the one that was dim. Sherlock stared back, ready to reply quickly and harshly before something clicked in his mind, the way the girl looked at him, the way he hadn't heard anyone reply behind the door when John said something to the girl, the way John was staring at him like he was an idiot for asking such a question. He thought quickly to fix his situation and keep Johns' suspicion at bay. "Yes. Of course. I'm well aware she hasn't spoken….since her mother's death." He said bluntly causing another look in John's eyes that he ignored. "But I find that if you never ask her things, or never expect her to talk, then it makes it more likely she never will." He said confidently.

John's expression changed again, glancing at the girl with almost a frown before nodding. "Right.. I.. I'll try that, of course." He said quietly. "I just wanted her to settle a bit before anything else." He said quietly, causing Sherlock to nod. Of one thing he was sure, and that was that John would be a decent father. The thought eased him a bit, though he wasn't sure why. He refused to believe that coming here had anything to do with making sure his child was well looked after.

John cleared his throat again. "well.. um.. I assume you want to have a look around?" He asked, standing up. Sherlock nodded, following suit, and deciding he could use this role for more. He followed John around the tiny flat. The girl's bedroom was tiny. It seemed to barely fit her now and definitely wouldn't be ideal for when she got older. John looked a bit sheepish as Sherlock surveyed the room. "I.. Um. I'm planning on moving.. when she gets older. I've started saving up already. She won't be in this room forever." Sherlock nodded, sure that John's room wasn't much better. He headed back to the sitting room and watched the girl for another moment before deciding he had already over-stayed his welcome.

"I'll be out of your hair now." He said, before leaving quickly before John could ask any questions. Sherlock didn't want to think more about the child or the man that was to become her father. He shook his head to rid himself of any emotion that threatened to appear at the thought and quickly made his way home to rid himself of all feeling for just a while.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock found in the next few weeks that he couldn't get the child or John Watson out of his mind. He often found himself on the sofa searching through his mind palace for all the information he had on both of them, whether he had a needle in his arm or not was irrelevant. He finally decided there was nothing to be gained from pursuing more knowledge on either the child or the guardian. He realized belatedly that the name of the child wasn't in the file and it never came up in his conversation with John either. That in itself proved to Sherlock that he didn't care of the child as a person but rather an intrigue.

After a few days spent trying to rid himself of any thoughts regarding the two of them he found himself once again on the sofa, although luckily he didn't have a needle in his arm. He heard loud knocking on the door, more like banging. They didn't bother ringing the bell, which told Sherlock this wasn't a friendly call. They were angry, whoever they were. That was interesting.

Sherlock sat up a bit as he heard soft voices telling him his landlady had answered the door, and then heavy footsteps, angry, but heavily favoring one foot over the other. Something clicked in his mind, causing his eyes to widen just a bit. He fought to get himself composed just as the door flew open.

"Sherlock Holmes." John stood at the door, staring at him. "You're not a difficult man to find." He said, watching Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes flitted over the figure and he found himself raising an eyebrow.

"I see this isn't a social call. Or do you always bring guns when visiting someone?" He asked staring right back at him without any hint of fear.

John shifted slightly. "It's merely for support." He replied. "I think you know why I'm here." He said, stepping further into the room and shutting the door.

Sherlock cleared his throat and shrugged lightly. "Enlighten me." He said. He knew that it was likely the real employee of child services had shown up, but he didn't know how much John knew about him and he didn't want to give away more than necessary.

John clenched his teeth. Obviously that wasn't what he was looking for. "You do know. Child services showed up. I asked about you. Of course I didn't have your name at all. In fact, I kept Willow in my room while she slept not knowing when you'd return or what you wanted. But then today, I wake up to find a folder on my coffee table." His eyes glance to a similar folder on Sherlock's coffee table which he realized Mycroft must have dropped by when he was in his mind palace. He felt himself get even more irritated with Mycroft and whatever he was planning. It was obviously big.

John shifted again, staying near the door as if it could have been a trap, which in Sherlock's mind it probably was just not the sort John's expecting. Sherlock cleared his throat. "And I suppose the folder contained a picture of me, name and address." Sherlock continued for him. "So you dropped the child, Willow, off at your sisters place in order to confront me." He said, watching with interest as John's hand slowly moved backward, to rest on the butt of his gun.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please. You don't need that." He said, leaning back again. "I wish no harm on Willow." He said, finding the name an interesting pick. It was obviously an attempt to name her after Sherlock's first name William. Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the sentimentality.

John stood his ground still watching Sherlock. "How do I know that? Who are you and what did you really want. And this time I want proof." Sherlock sighed again. It was interesting, at times John was overly predictable, and at times wasn't close to being predictable. It should have annoyed Sherlock or bored him, but he actually found it refreshing and interesting.

Sherlock sat up and grabbed the file Mycroft gave him, assuming it had proof. He found the child's birth certificate along with a photo of him and Irene at a restaurant. Sherlock loathed his brother at that moment. He kept the birth certificate hidden but pulled out the photo, showing it to John. "I'm an…acquaintance of her mother. I was merely checking on the child, since her mother couldn't do it. I'm sure if I didn't her mother would have my head if there was some sort of afterlife." He rolled his eyes at the implications, but watched John as he looked at the photo. He knew John probably had seen a picture of the mother somewhere, hopefully. The recognition in John's eyes was enough.

John stared further at the picture, obviously still suspicious as he looked up. "Just because you were at a restaurant with her doesn't make you not a threat. In fact it might even increase the probability of being a threat. Along with the fact that that folder is the same as the one I had. You wouldn't have brought it to me, so who did?" He asked.

Sherlock found himself smiling a bit at John. He wasn't a complete idiot. "Yes John. It was the same person. My brother. Think of him as the government. He got that picture from a street camera, obviously. He's rather nosy." John shifted a bit again, but finally moved the hand away from the gun.

"You said acquaintance?" He asked, looking up.

Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose she would have considered me a friend. And I suppose she was my closest…friend." He said. "I don't really have friends." He said. "I don't know what other proof you want John."

John bit his lip as he looked from the picture up to Sherlock. "I… I don't know much about her mother. She'll ask…one day.. hopefully if she ever speaks.." He said quietly. "And I won't have anything to go on. I'm not saying I trust you yet. But if you really were a friend… I think Willow needs that, someone who knew her child." He said, moving forward to give the picture back.

Sherlock's eyes widened again. He didn't want that. He wasn't expecting that. He had decided to stay out of it, not get involved. He cursed Mycroft, knowing that this was his plan somehow. He still didn't know what it accomplished, and that worried Sherlock. "I've done my part. I've made sure she's in capable hands. It's the most her mother could ask for." He said, watching him.

John's face hardened again, just a bit. "If you were her friend. You'd want what's best for her child." He said, staring at him.

Sherlock nodded slowly. "There you go John. Yes. I would, and that's not me. So if you'll close the door gently on your way out, that would be much appreciated." He said, flinging his legs back up on the sofa and closing his eyes. It was completely silent for a while as John continued to stare at him, before he finally heard the footsteps fading and the door shutting.

He sighed heavily. He wasn't aware that he cared at all about the child, but there was something there, and Sherlock was highly aware that his presence in the child's life would only cause problems the child didn't need.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been another two weeks without word of John. Sherlock was convinced John had decided Sherlock was right and decided to leave him alone. Sherlock ignored the slight pang of disappointment. It was best for the child. She didn't need to know her father, of course John had no idea that he was the father and he hoped to keep it that way, easier done when John stayed away.

Sherlock did find that it was difficult to stop thinking about John and the child. There were two options, but for some reason he couldn't justify using drugs in order to get rid of thoughts of his daughter. He hated the sentimentality of it but couldn't get rid of it. He finally chose to find Lestrade. The case took a while to solve, which was exactly what he needed. He spent over a week trying to figure it out and it felt good, until the symptoms of withdrawal started to annoy him.

Finally he finished the case and headed home ready to get rid of his withdrawal. He was shaking when he entered his flat, moving quickly to his hidden stash. He had just pulled it out when he heard someone ring the doorbell. He cursed whoever it was and waited exactly where he was, trying to decide whether he cared or not who it was.

He heard footsteps coming up the door, two pairs. The first pair was louder and showed an obvious limp, the other pair was barely heard, a child most likely. Sherlock cursed again and put the stash back. He stood up just as there was a knock on his door. He moved over to the sofa, trying to hide his shakiness. "Enter if you must." He called out, glad his voice stayed strong.

John entered the room, holding Willow's hand. Sherlock found his eyes drawn to her immediately. It didn't take much to know she still wasn't talking, but she was at least a bit comfortable with John. He raised an eyebrow at John. "To what do I owe this visit?" He asked, trying to think of the fastest way to get rid of them. He could always pull out his stash, but that would likely not only end up in John fleeing with the child for the moment, but it would probably mean that he'd never return, and possibly mean that cops would be at his door in a moment.

John closed the door behind him and gave a look over Sherlock as if he was suspicious of something. "I disagreed with your last comment the last time I was here. And I thought it would be a good trip for Willow." He said, smiling down at her. She looked over at Sherlock curiously, but didn't respond more than that. "Are you well?" John added looking at him.

Sherlock thought about saying he was ill, that should have John getting the child away from him quickly, but the doctor in him might try to stay and diagnose which wouldn't be helpful. Sherlock nodded. "Quite." He responded, aware that he was pale and sweating lightly. He had a headache that wouldn't go away and he was shaking, but as long as he stayed in his position John wouldn't notice the shaking, or so he hoped.

John frowned a bit, obviously not buying it, but moved further into the room. He eyed the sofa, but Sherlock showed no interest in moving, so he sat in the chair, propping Willow up on his lap. She glanced around the room curiously, but stayed where she was for the time being.

Silence reigned over the flat, disturbed only when the door opened slowly to emit Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock groaned internally as he saw the tray of tea. This was already a longer visit than he wanted. She smiled at them. "I brought tea and biscuits." She said, moving to set the tray on the coffee table. "and hot cocoa for the little one." She added, holding up a small glass toward willow who took it slowly and a bit shyly.

"Thank you." John said quietly. "She doesn't speak." He added, as Mrs. Hudson watched her. Mrs. Hudson nodded sagely. "That's quite alright. I wouldn't speak much either if I was in a room full of strangers. And Sherlock here is the strangest of all." She said, almost fondly. "Now Sherlock, sit up. It's hardly polite to be like that with company." Sherlock replied with a noncommittal noise but didn't move.

He tried to take in the reactions of everyone but it was difficult. He found he could hardly think at all. He had to think about the last time he ate or slept, which was probably near John's last visit. That was probably adding to his withdrawal. But then if he reached for a biscuit his shaking would be obvious. He supposed he could pull it off as lack of food.

That decided he sat up a bit, though it was difficult and reached out a hand, a very shaky hand toward the tray. He picked up a biscuit and slowly began eating it. He could feel John's eyes boring into him, watching and diagnosing. He cleared his throat. "I don't eat on cases." He said nonchalantly, deciding to force John's mind in the direction Sherlock wanted it.

John frowned more, not what Sherlock wanted. "When's the last time you ate then?" He asked, watching him. Sherlock shrugged. "That depends on what you consider eating." He replied, knowing he'd had a biscuit here or there throughout the past weeks, enough to keep him going.

John sighed. "The last time you had a full and balanced meal." He replied, making Sherlock scoff lightly. "the day before the last time you were here then." He answered, watching John's eyes widen. Sherlock was just glad to keep it at this, rather than the alternative. John watched him more intensely. "And slept a full night?" He asked.

Sherlock hummed lightly as he thought. "The same, maybe longer depending on the definition of a full night." He replied watching John, who frowned more. Sherlock thought this might work to his advantage. "I was thinking about sleeping before you appeared." He added.

Unfortunately he could still see the frown on John's face and didn't like the way his mind seemed to be turning. He nodded slowly. "That's probably a good idea, but not before you eat." He replied. Sherlock sighed but nodded. "Sure." He answered, assuming John would take the promise and leave, but was once again surprised by the man.

"Good. Then I'll fix us all something to eat before we go so you can rest." He decided, watching Sherlock intently as if he was highly aware he wouldn't eat if John left. Sherlock held back a dramatic sigh and merely tilted his head in affirmation. John took the cup from willow, setting it on the tray so it wasn't spilled and got up, replacing her on the chair before heading to the kitchen.

Sherlock watched the girl now. She wasn't a normal shy child. Her eyes showed curiosity, but she was obviously not willing to speak. She hadn't smiled either that Sherlock knew of. It was a tad unnerving. Sherlock found himself wanting to make the child smile but dismissed the idea.

Willow's eyes moved over to Sherlock and they watched each other for a moment before a cry came from the kitchen, startling Willow to look toward the kitchen. Sherlock thought belatedly that he should have warned John about the head in the fridge.

"There's a bloody head. In the fridge!" John yelled, moving to the entrance to the kitchen. Sherlock hummed lightly. "Experiment." John looked like he wanted to say more on the subject but glanced at Willow. Her eyes were wide but Sherlock thought not in fear but rather in curiosity. It made Sherlock's lips twitch into a smile. John shook his head and turned back into the kitchen, shoulders held high as if going to war.

Willow got up off the chair and walked over to the kitchen a small frown on her face, as if wanting to see, but not wanting to upset anyone. She turned back around and started walking around the room, observing and reaching for things, touching them, but not taking them like most children. She didn't put anything in her mouth for which he was glad.

Sherlock watched for a while before seeing her stop in front of the mantle and staring up in awe at the skull Sherlock had there. She reached up, standing on tiptoes and trying to grab it, but not getting near it. She frowned and glanced around the room. Sherlock found himself smiling as he watched the child. She wasn't crying and whining that she couldn't get it, she was trying to find a way to get it. He saw her eye his books on his shelf, and decided that would end badly. He stood slowly, shakily, noticing that the food didn't really help.

Willow glanced over at him, a bit warily. Sherlock hummed lightly. "The books will likely fall over if you stack them and try to stand on them." He explained as if talking to someone much older. He loathed people acting like he was a child when he was one. He moved over grabbed the skull before holding it down to her.

Hesitantly, she reached up for it. She took it in her hands and started to examine it as Sherlock moved back to the sofa, needing to sit.

John entered a moment later, frown in place. "I now understand why you don't eat. There's honestly nothing edible in this flat." He said. "I'll have to order takeaway." He said, before glancing at the chair where willow wasn't sitting. Sherlock could see the slight panic before he glanced around the room to where she was now sitting on the floor cross-legged in front of the fireplace holding the skull. "Willow is that..?" He asked, frowning a bit.

Willow looked up at him holding up the skull with a tentative smile. The look on John's face made Sherlock feel triumphant. It was obvious he'd never seen her smile either. "Ah.. that's.. very nice." He replied. Willow nodded, and put it back in her lap, the smile still in place as she examined it and moved it around a bit.

John's eyes met Sherlock's. He looked slightly confused, like he wanted to both berate him and praise him. He finally decided to just let it go and nodded at him before sitting back in the chair he had claimed and calling for takeaway.

After eating, John finally decided it was time to go. Sherlock found himself less focused on his need for drugs and more focused on both the child and the guardian. John smiled at him. "Get some sleep. I mean it. We'll be back sometime." He said, looking at Willow. "Would you like that? To come back to see Sherlock?" He asked. Willow looked down at the skull she had once again and then up to Sherlock before looking at John and nodding once.

John grinned at that, before moving to take the skull and replacing it on the mantle. He took her hand and nodded to Sherlock before leaving. Sherlock sighed as the door was shut. Now would be the perfect time to get back into his stash, but he found himself too tired and lazy to get up and instead fell asleep on the sofa.


	4. Chapter 4

For the next couple of weeks, Sherlock found himself almost too preoccupied to return to the drugs. John had visited quite a few times, each time bringing Willow. Sherlock had to admit it made him both glad and wary. He could already see himself getting far too close to Willow and for that matter he even felt an attachment to John. He didn't like it. He didn't like feeling connected to people or needed by people. He already felt obligated to Mrs. Hudson and a sort of obligation to Lestrade, though he figured that was more about the cases than anything else, or so he told himself incessantly.

It worried him how close he was getting to the man and to the child. It wasn't good. He didn't like it at all. He also didn't like how happy it made him. Or he assumed he was happy. He wasn't sure he'd ever been happy before. But seeing Willow walk through the door was like getting an interesting case. And seeing her smile was finding out it was a serial killer.

One day after they had left, Sherlock found himself back at his stash, holding the drugs in his hand and finding he didn't want it. It was a strange feeling. He didn't really want to throw it away either. It was expensive and might be of use later, so he put it back and sat on the sofa, steepling his hands under his cheeks.

It didn't take long before he heard footsteps, the sound first lifting his spirits before his mind caught up. It was only one set of footsteps, and they had just left anyway. It didn't take long before he frowned and threw himself onto the sofa childishly just before the door opened to reveal Mycroft standing in the door.

"To what do I owe this unpleasant visit?" Sherlock almost snarled, closing his eyes.

Mycroft tutted lightly and moved over to the armchair he usually sat in. "I've noticed a change in you, Sherlock. I must say it's not quite what I expected. It's even better. Having a reason to stay clean seems to help quite a bit, wouldn't you say?"

Sherlock flipped over, glaring at him. "That was your play?" He snarled, sitting up. "You were counting on my /attachment/ to the child? Well I can assure you it didn't work. Now if you'd be so kind as to leave."

Mycroft sighed, sitting back further in the chair as if to show how unlikely he was to leave at the moment. "Don't be rash, Sherlock. You've told me once before you had no reason to stay clean. Is it so bad that you've found a reason? Even if it is….sentiment." He said the last word distastefully.

Sherlock glared at him. "I don't have a reason even now. I've just been busy. Now if you'd leave I could continue what I'd started."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You haven't started anything. You couldn't even use it could you?" He asked, standing up and moving toward Sherlock's stash, causing Sherlock's eyes to narrow and him to stand as well.

"Go away Mycroft." He snarled. Mycroft pulled out the drugs and looked back at Sherlock who was glaring at him.

He sighed. "I didn't think you'd quite resort to this. But I can see now how wrong I was, so I'll be taking this for safe keeping. You really would use, just to disprove me." He said, sounding almost disappointed. Though Sherlock always heard disappointment in Mycroft's voice so this was nothing new to him.

Sherlock knew better than to argue, it would only show his hand after all, so he let Mycroft leave with the stash. Though even now Sherlock was thinking up who to see to get some more.

It took a few days to find someone to sell to him. It seemed like Mycroft was slowly working his way around, bribing and blackmailing people not to sell to Sherlock. That only made Sherlock angrier.

He made it home, drugs in hand, and sighed softly, ready to break his streak in his anger over Mycroft. He frowned at the door, seeing that someone had been inside. For a moment he thought Mycroft was in there, waiting for him. He hid the drugs in his coat, before opening the door to reveal Willow sitting on the floor with the skull in her hands and John sitting on the sofa watching her, with a smile.

Sherlock sighed softly, but stood as if going into battle before shutting the door. He turned to look at them. "You're back." He said, not as enthusiastically as he might have the last time they came.

John raised an eyebrow. "Yeah.. I thought we had a sort of system." He said, smiling at him, which Sherlock refused to admit made his heart flutter slightly, so he glared at him a bit. He hung up his coat, knowing the drugs were in it.

John frowned just a bit, but decided it was just another of Sherlock's mannerisms. Willow looked up, watching Sherlock curiously as she tended to do, almost like she knew something, which made Sherlock uneasy. She stood up and walked over to Sherlock holding out the skull.

Pushing away all of his emotions, Sherlock took the skull quickly before walking to the mantle. "Yes thanks, that is mine. You two can be on your way now." He mumbled turning back to them. He would have expected Willow to make a fuss and cry if she was any other child, but as it was she stared at him just like she had before almost like Sherlock had given himself away and she knew everything.

Sherlock didn't like that at all. He turned his own gaze on John. "Nice seeing you. I'm busy at the moment, however. Perhaps next time you should call." He said shortly.

John rolled his eyes, standing up. "You say that like you actually answer your phone." He said, taking Willow's hand. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, continuing to watch John. "I'm guessing you have a point with that." He drawled.

Shaking his head and sighing, John turned around leading her out. "I know you want to see her just as much as she wants to see you. And I know that for some reason it's hard for you to show that. But you better get yourself in line because I won't keep pushing her on you Sherlock."

Sherlock turned away, as if examining the skull, trying not to listen to John or be affected in the least. He wasn't supposed to care. When he finally turned around again, they were gone. He sighed softly and wasn't sure if he felt relief or disappointment. He moved over to his coat, taking out his new stash and went about preparing himself for it.

Finally he laid back on the sofa with a needle in his arm, feeling the drugs entering his system. He sighed softly, closing his eyes before promptly opening them again and jerking up as the door flew open. He stared at Willow, standing there staring back at him almost accusingly before John came running up after her, cane left behind somewhere as it would have slowed him down. Sherlock would have grinned and counted it as his own success if he were in any state to care.

He watched slowly as John grabbed her hand again, obviously worried that he had lost her, before he looked up and opened his mouth, probably to apologize. The words never came out, lost as he saw Sherlock finally.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" He cried, looking at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I think you know exactly what I'm doing. Don't be obtuse." He replied calmly, feeling a lot calmer than he had in a while.

"Yes.. well.. yes." John replied, stepping in front of Willow as if to shield her from what she was seeing. "And you think it's okay to do that in front of a child?!" He asked, temper rising.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting up. "Obviously not. You had just left. I didn't expect her to be rid of you so easily, but then perhaps that was my miscalculation." He muttered, removing the needle with a sigh and setting it next to the rest of his drugs. He raised an eyebrow at John.

John took a deep breath, trying to control his anger and hurt. "You couldn't possibly know if we were coming back. What if we forgot something?"

"You didn't. You're forgetting who you're talking to." Sherlock responded easily. "Now go away you're ruining the effects." He muttered, scowling a bit.

John's anger flared at that. "I'm ruining… You bloody selfish…" He shook his head, too angry to complete his sentences. "You were obviously wrong! Seeing as we're back! Didn't take everything into account now did you?!" He snarled. "Obviously you really are a selfish bastard who wants nothing to do with Willow and I, because we wont be back!"

Sherlock sighed softly. "Me and Willow." He replied, which had John spluttering. "Is that it?! That's all you got from that?! Just.. me being wrong and you having to correct me and be right?!" He shouted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "You know for claiming that I'd be bad for Willow like this, you're doing an awful lot of shouting in front of her. And I might point out that I warned you I'd be bad for her." He said.

John shook his head slowly. "And I should have taken your word for that. That will be my regret. Have a fantastic life Sherlock." He turned around and left the room, leading a somber looking Willow after him.

Sherlock stared at the door as it slammed shut. He didn't even wince, just continued staring at it, like it was wrong. He moved to put his drugs in his stash and sat back on the sofa, irritated that his high was ruined and trying to ignore emotions completely, trying to get his high back.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, in his mind, letting it wander in his hazed and slowly more euphoric state. But soon the door was opened once again and he felt the high dwindling, almost at it's end. "John?" He said, opening his eyes only to see DI Lestrade standing there. "Who's John?" He asked, looking at him slightly confused.

Sherlock shook his head. "No one." He replied. "You have a new case?" He asked, feeling better already. A case would keep his mind off of things, and he figured his high was mostly gone by now, so hopefully Lestrade wouldn't notice.

Lestrade watched him curiously and shook his head. "No. I just came to check up on you." He answered. "You haven't been responding to my texts."

Sherlock sighed, slumping back in his sofa. "That's because they were boring and pointless and I had no response. Now leave and come back when there's a decent murder."

Lestrade chuckled lightly. "Yeah. I'll have that ready now for you shall I?" He retaliated, moving to sit in an armchair. His eyes narrowed a bit as he observed Sherlock closer. Sherlock stared back at him, knowing looking away would give him up, but then so might staring him down giving him what he needed to observe. He could only hope Lestrade was as obtuse as the other Detective Inspectors. "You're high." He said, mouth forming a thin line.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No actually. Not much anymore." He said, still staring back at him.

"Bloody Hell Sherlock. We had a deal." He said, standing up again.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Why does everyone assume that we made deals, or that it's up to them what I do to myself. The drugs help. I can't handle it without them. You still have your consulting detective since your team is too idiotic to figure anything out on its own and I'm never high on a case like you ordered. That was our deal."

Lestrade shook his head. "Our deal was for you to never be high again. You can't just pick and choose. It's a bloody addiction Sherlock. And yes, it does affect us. Because we care, whether you choose to see that or not."

"It seems I'm interrupting." Mycroft said from the door, causing Sherlock to groan loudly. "Does everyone have to appear right now? You've planned this all together haven't you? To make sure to ruin my high."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Brother dear, it seems as if the paranoia is getting to you." He replied, leaning on his umbrella, before glancing at Lestrade who was watching him with interest.

"Mr. Holmes? Finally we meet in person." He said, moving forward and holding out a hand. Mycroft looked him up and down, before taking his hand. "Call me Mycroft."

"Or the government. He'd probably prefer that title." Sherlock practically snarled. Mycroft gave him a forced smile. "Ignore him. He does like to put up a fight when he's not the center of attention."

Lestrade chuckled. "You could say that again." He replied, glancing at Sherlock. "Well. I should.. probably go, leave you two.. to.. do whatever it is you had planned."

Mycroft watched him curiously for a moment longer. "Not necessary." He replied. "You're likely to be late for you meeting. Just wait another minute and I'll take you there myself. You wont be late." He added.

Lestrade's eyebrows rose a bit before he nodded. "Thanks. That'd be appreciated." He said. "And I won't ask how you knew about that. Since I've dealt with Sherlock for far too long."

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Indeed." He replied, still eying him curiously before looking at Sherlock. "I just wanted to ask you Sherlock. Was it really worth it? You've lost everything now." He said, almost empathetically. He walked over to Sherlock's stash, grabbing what Sherlock had just put in there, and walking back to the door. He glanced at Lestrade. "I trust this won't be mentioned." He said, looking at him.

Lestrade shrugged. "No. Of course not. I already bend the rules enough where he is concerned." He sighed, following Mycroft out of the flat and to his car. "But I will take him in if he shows up high like he has in the past."

Mycroft nodded slightly. "Naturally. But somehow, I don't think that will be necessary." He replied thoughtfully, glancing up at the flat's window just before the car drove away.


End file.
